My Mother
by aicornduong
Summary: Sleipner recalls that his mother was always there for him, so he is always there for his mother. He knows that his mother is alone without him and he is the only one that listens.


Sleipnir slowly trotted through Asgard's forest with his mother lying on his back, free-flowing tears long sinced dried up, choked sobs of grief long since evened out, tired eyes long since closed and surrendered to slumber.

Occasionally, his mother would let out a shuddering gasp, but that was all. Sleipnir felt his mother's grief and understood like a child no other. Sleipnir knew that sadly, he was the only one who could relate to his mother. He was different, he felt it, he saw it, though he also knew that he had it easier, since he lived in a world where survival of the fittest was logically of strength and strength alone.

He let out a stray whinny, and in the ensuing silence, contemplated. He had inherited some of his mother's protective magic, but also his mother's superior intellect and memory.

It was at times like these that his mother, broken and vulnerable, reminded him of his days as a young foal. Sleipnir stood out, stumbling through the grass outside the stables, eight legs tripping over each other while the rest had already started to run about.

When Sleipnir was young, his mother would change shape often. During the evenings, his mother would transform into a stunning mare, with a shining black coat and rippling muscles underneath, though no matter what form, his mother would always have the same look of nurturing. Then his mother would take him along a path to practice his coordination, picking him up whenever he tripped.

With his mother's help, it wasn't long before he joined the others in their playful galloping.

In the meadows, Sleipnir would frolic with the other foals, gleeful neighing sounding through the air. They never seemed to notice that he had eight legs, and he wondered why, but never complained. Until the day he realized that they did notice. There were just those who did not care and those who chose to attempt at ostracizing him for it.

There were occasions where Sleipnir would be minding his own business and two foals, both older and bigger than him each, would approach him. Would neigh at him angrily. Would begin to stamp their hooves and shove at him. His mother would allow him to play rough, but whenever Sleipnir was threatened, his mother would immediately be by his side and quite literally made the foals vanish.

While the parents of the missing foals danced with frantic hysteria where the foals disappeared, his mother would comfort him and make certain that he was unharmed. Of course, his mother was not cruel and would later calm down the parents each, then draw a line in the air to create a path of blue fire that would lead them to their missing foals. He thought his mother to be very kind.

There was on instance however, Sleipnir remembered this one quite well, when he was older, a colt, and he was approached by a full grown stallion. This stallion did not stamp or shove, but immediately began to kick at him. Sleipnir, unable to protect himself, could only cry out in pain as the stallion broke his front leg and tossed him to the floor.

Every horse in the area them heard a scream, felt the world grow cold, the wind kick up every bit of loose dust. Sleipnir's mother appeared with a burst of hellfire, face contorted with rage, incantations cast with such anger that the magic swirled in crackling tendrils before they were even fully formed. His mother rushed the stallion, lifted it by its throat, and spat out the last word, fuming with unrelenting fury.

The stallion instantaneously incinerated, ashes falling to the ground in an unceremonious heap, the rest thrown in to mix from his mother's fingers.

When the world had been restored to balance moments after, his mother knelt by him, expression completely of concern for his wellbeing, the destructive magic that he had witnessed then healing his broken leg while words of comfort were spoken.

If Sleipnir had known what a laugh was back then, he would have laughed a horse's laugh. His mother loved him so. But at that time he knew that his vicious mother, capable of ridding Asgard of all sentient life, was worried about him, so he neighed and rubbed his mother's cheek with his snout.

Of course, the horses were smart enough to never attack Sleipnir unfairly after that. His mother allowed him to compete and rough house with other colts so he could grow strong and skilled, swift and sturdy. There were times that he lost, but he didn't want his mother to interfere. He never had to worry though. His mother always understood him perfectly.

"You are of _royalty_," his mother would always say, rubbing a cheek against his muzzle. "You are above all these other stupid animals. You know by now, even the smartest beast here has intellect far inferior to your own. You were meant to rule them. Your time will come."

True to his mother's word, his time came. The years had passed and Sleipnir was fully grown, head held high to the wind and body strong, thickly muscled and powerful. It was his time to take the herd.

He remembered his battle with the elder stallion to be valiant, difficult, but successful. The stallion had honorably conceded to defeat, let age finally take over, let Sleipnir finally take over. In the current point in time, the stallion was living his life as a passive member of Sleipnir's herd.

Looking back, his mother had always come to his side to help him, and now his mother came to his side in his grief. Usually his mother would look as if nothing were amiss as he entered the stables, though Sleipnir could always sense that something was wrong, and once the stable doors closed, the tears would stream from his eyes. Sometimes his mother would not say anything, just hug him until the tears stopped, a smile would break the sadness, and the two of them would sleep together that night.

Sometimes it wouldn't be enough. Sleipnir would then ask what was wrong and the two of them would talk, Sleipnir always understanding. He would comfort his mother, promising everything would be alright as his mother had done when he was young.

One time, he asked his mother why he couldn't just kill off the males (and apparently females were competition too) so as to win his claim? It was only one specimen that his mother sought after, after all. His mother shook his head. Killing off their fellows, even if those fellows were competition, was against law. Would bring him hatred instead of glory.

Sleipnir learned that there many were different laws which governed the world that his mother lived in. They were quite strange to him.

That the firstborn would be the one to rule, not the most powerful. That his mother's powers were seen as weak by the others in the palace. That there were expectations of conduct and personality, looks that were quite biased. Sometimes Sleipnir could hardly believed that he and his mother lived in the same realm, so different were the ways they lived.

To him, beauty was unmistakable beauty, power can only be judged by its worth, and the most powerful was the one to rule over all.

His mother, apparently, was worthless. Something that definitely was not true. His mother was not being given a fair chance to prove his worth; now that was fact that could not be denied.

This time was completely different than all the others however. This time, the stable doors were thrown open, slamming with the force of his mother's hands, and his mother came in with a rush, sobbing uncontrollably as he came to Sleipnir, robes flying out in his wake. Sleipnir knew immediately what his mother needed, knew that his mother wanted to get out even before he had leapt onto his back.

He reared up on his back legs and burst from the stables to take his mother away, from what he knew not, but he knew that his mother needed to leave. Something inside his mother had broken.

He could not fathom what in all nine realms could have broken his mother, but Sleipnir hoped that it was not permanent. He did love his mother so.

"Mmm, Sleipnir…" his mother groaned, breath stuttering for a few moments before speaking again, "Where are we?"

Sleipnir snorted and tossed his head. _Do you not recognize this path, Mother? It is very dear to us._

His mother lifted his head and looked about, examining their surroundings. "It is the path that we walked down together when you were young." He lay his head down on Sleipnir's neck once more. "I remember it well."

_As do I, Mother. Does it not bring fond memories?_

"That it does. Thank you, my son. I'm sorry for bothering you in the middle of the night so often," he said, wrapping his arms around Sleipnir's neck.

_I know you take comfort in my company, Mother, and I do not mind it. Family must stay together, help each other, and love one another._

"You are such a good child," his mother sighed.

_Mother, I am not a child,_ Sleipnir insisted playfully,_ I am a full grown stallion now. No longer a young foal._

"You will always be my child though, beloved and beautiful," his mother replied. Sleipnir could hear the pride swelling in his mother's heart. "Though yes, you are grown. A handsome and healthy stallion that will live far beyond the years of any other. You do have my blood, after all. I do believe you may be immortal."

_And for that, I am thankful. I would hate terribly to have to leave you behind, Mother. You have always been there for me, from the very beginning._

"And I will be there for you until the end," his mother promised.

Both of them were silent for a while, only the crickets in the grass chirping as Sleipnir carried his mother down the trail. But then Sleipnir felt his mother lift his head.

"I suppose I have never told you that astray this path lie the place of your birth," his mother murmured. "Through the trees there on the left," he directed, lifting an arm to point him the right direction. "Be careful not the tread upon any rocks, dearest."

_Yes, Mother,_ Sleipnir replied, following her instruction. He was a little excited. He never knew that he had been born aside the path that had walked upon so often. _How far astray do we speak of- Oh._

"Right here, Sleipnir."

He stopped walking in favor of looking around, his head turning as he examined their surroundings. The area was a wide open clearing with a small lake in the center, the top still and undisturbed, looking like glass even as the creatures that lived in the water shifted and swam beneath the surface among the colorful plant life that thrived. The moon reflected off of the water, as did everything above it, yet Sleipnir could still see all the way to the base of it.

Turning slightly to examine the trees that encircled the clearing, he saw they were thick and covered in healthy vines that sported large blossoms reaching up to the branches. He stepped into the lush grass of the clearing, soft and tall enough to occasionally brush the underside of his torso, but quiet as it tossed about in the breeze and parted ever so slightly around his legs as he walked forth slowly. Beneath his hooves he could feel the dirt was soft as the grass that tickled him, level between the grasses where there were no rocks. The rocks that he did occasionally come across were smooth pebbles that he could roll away easily.

Nearer to the lake, Sleipnir could see that, dappled in the grass, grew flowers of every color and shape in great numbers.

The scene was breath-taking, but what amazed Sleipnir the most was the vibrant energy that hummed in harmony with the environment. The moment he stepped into the clearing, he became one with the life force that surrounded them, became aware of every being there, every life _source_, even the grass. It was warm and refreshing, peaceful, comforting especially with his mother on his back who breathed in the air and renewed himself.

_It… it is an amazing place. I did not know that nature held such wonders in all nine realms. It is impossibly incredible. Is this what it feels like to be a magical being? I surely cannot be of magic if this is what the feeling is._

His mother laughed a tired sound in her voice. "Do not doubt your heritage," his mother reprimanded. "This area is only accessible to a select few, such as yourself and I. But it was not always like this, my son. When I stumbled into this place, it was desolate. It did not look to be a part of the forest at all. I believe it was an area where my brother once threw one of his infamous tantrums when we were young and struck the ground with a bolt of lightning. Here…" he gestured to a stray patch of grass, "I stumbled in and fell in the dust, my magic drained and my form about to shatter while my body convulsed unnaturally. I feared for all my life that I would not be able to properly birth you."

His mother paused and Sleipnir heard him cough, tears freefalling once more.

"But then I heard my name called out to the heavens," his mother said, trying to talk around his tears. "It began to rain and the same lightning that struck the ground I lay on dead lit up the way for my brother to find me. And find me he did, struggling to keep my form as a mare, half-human and half-horse, and you were on your way. My brother did not flinch. He grabbed my deformed hand and urged me to take his energy. With his help, I was able to return to my mare form and give birth to you, my beloved."

_I suppose that an epic story is fitting for one with such great parentage and heritage, such as I, _Sleipnir teased, though he could not hide his awe. _Please continue, Mother. You have not explained to me how the desolate ruin came to be so beautiful._

"I was getting to that part, Sleipnir," his mother chuckled. He sniffled and wiped away the tears that lingered. "But of course, your birth itself was a miraculous event. With the energy that my brother gave me, what would have been perhaps countless hours of labor were shortened into minutes. My brother recalled, when I finally lay my head to rest with you in my human arms, that it was first your head, then each of your eight legs that slipped from my body. My first thought was, 'My beautiful child… he has been born. He has made it. We are safe. My beautiful son…'

"My brother bid the rain to a drizzle, lightly washing the blood from your face, and it was then I looked around. The blood of your afterbirth had been spread thin by the rain, and as the rain drew to a stop, the clouds parted to the night sky, it sank into the ground as if the ground drank the blood, the magic of the blood bringing life like never before.

"You, with your eyes closed, did not see this, but you see it now. This is your tale, Sleipnir. Your coming revived the earth that by rage was destroyed," his mother finished, sliding off of his back. "Let us rest here tonight as we did the night of your birth."

_Yes, Mother. My tale is an amazing one. It is hard to believe._ Sleipnir replied, folding up his legs to sleep in the grass. But then a thought struck him._ This is not to be the night of your death, is it, Mother? Is that why you lead us here? If it be, then I shall not sleep!_

"Hush, child," his mother scolded, but then his expression softened. "Tonight be not the night of my death, nor shall the night of my death come soon. But tonight, this be the best place to sleep. Even beings without magic who cannot enter can feel the healing properties that bring life here."

He sat down and rest against his son, who curled around and rest his head in his mother's lap.

_I hear the truth in your words, Mother. Let us sleep then, a slumber without grief. I will wake with you when the morn come. _

"As will I, my son," his mother replied. "I love you, Sleipnir."

_And I you, Mother._


End file.
